


Conjugal visit

by ClaireScott



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Season/Series 07, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaireScott/pseuds/ClaireScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You visit Juice in prison and find a broken soul, desperate for love and redemption. It's heartbreaking to see him beyond remedy. This last visit is going to be a hell of a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conjugal visit

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. I apologize for all the mistakes.

500 bucks. 500 fucking bucks for an afternoon with Juice. You paid, grudgingly, but yeah, you paid.  
“You have five hours,” the warden says and opens the door to the little studio apartment, equipped for conjugal visits.  
The door is getting locked and you see him sitting on the bed, his back to you. He’s staring at the floor, doesn’t even bat an eyelash.  
“Hey,” you say, stopping in front of him. “How are you?”  
The surprise in his eyes in the moment he looks up is quite a good thing. He stares at you like you’re a kind of ghost or something.  
“Uhm,” he says. “Watcha doin’ here?”  
“Conjugal visit. That’s what this room is for, right?”  
“Guess so. Yeah. But I ... I didn’t apply for it. And you have to apply for it.”  
“Yeah, I know. I paid 500 bucks to Harrison and the disgusting Reeves to visit you.”  
He nods slowly: “I see. So, uh, thanks, but that’s ... How long will you stay?”  
Damn, he looks really terrible. Sad, depressed, tired, desperate.  
“Five hours.”  
“Wow,” he snorts, “100 bucks per hour. Now I’m a high end hooker, right?”  
“Beg your pardon?”  
“No dice.” He gives a shrug, staring at the floor.  
You take a seat at his side, intertwining your fingers with his, placing your head on his shoulder. The silence becomes smothering and depressing.  
“How are you?” You ask after a few seconds. “And don’t you dare telling me you’re okay. You’re pretty fucking far from okay.”  
Juice shrugs once more and stands up, stripping slowly, without saying a word.  
“What are you doing, Juice?”  
“You’re here because you want sex. So, let’s start. Time is money, right?”  
“No, I’m not here just for sex. I want to spend some time with you, without an audience.”  
“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, “500 bucks for small talk? Play someone else for a sucker, Y/N.”  
“Juice, please, don’t ...,” you whisper but he interrupts you with a harsh command: “Strip.”  
“Juice, I ...”  
“Strip, goddamn, woman!” A barked out order which leaves you flinching.  
His boxers drop on the floor and you stare at his naked form, wondering what the hell as happened to him. He acts so differently. It started a few months ago and it’s getting worse with every week – but this here? It’s a bit scary how much the weeks in prison changed him.  
After a minute of staring each other down you whisper: “Help me, baby, please.”  
He nods, stepping closer, removing your clothes, slowly, but not gentle, not seductive. Two seconds after you’re naked you feel his lips on yours and you melt against him. This is the man you love. The kiss is hot, deep, and desperate and you gasp for air. You try to withdraw but he doesn’t let you. His grip is vise-like, zero chance for you to get away from him. He breaks the kiss to flip you around, throwing you on the bed, positioning you on your belly. His warmth feels pleasant on your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress is more than welcomed. It doesn’t work the way you’ve planned, but you didn’t expect to find him in a state of deep desperation and despair either.  
“I am a man,” he whispers at your ear, his hands roaming over your flanks. “Hear me?”  
“Yeah, I do. And I know, Juice.”  
“I am a man. Not a random, passed around pussy fucked by everyone who’s friend with Tully or Lin or even Jax.” He rubs himself at your thigh, grinding his hips against your skin while he speaks, slow but intensive, giving you goose bumps.  
The next seconds are silent while you try to cope with what you’ve heard. You’re so lost for words you barely feel his cock humping on your thigh, barely hear his deep breathing at your ear.  
“Juice, oh my god!” You whisper, shocked. “Does that mean what I think?”  
Without answering he spreads your legs and you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.  
“I’m a man,” he repeats and you’re gasping in shock and because of the slight pain you feel as he increases the pressure, as you fear he’s going to force himself into your dry pussy.  
“Juice, no! No, please! You’ll hurt me, please stop!” You try to get up, but he holds you down easily.  
“Never beg. Or say that they hurt you. Ya know why?” He whispers at your ear and the pressure at your entrance declines. He doesn’t enter you, thanks to the stars.  
Again you try to move but you have no chance against his strength. You’re manhandled and overpowered. Fucking shit.  
“No, I don’t know. Please, Juice, don’t do something stupid,” you answer trying to fight the tears back.  
You’re afraid. Deeply afraid that he’s so freaked out he’ll hurt you.  
“They don’t give a rat’s ass about it. It’s more a turn on. Your begging shows them that they have power.”  
He moves a bit and now the tip of his cock presses against your back entrance. You stay silent, but you can’t hold a whimper down. You lose your battle against the fear, tears rolling.  
“I am a man,” Juice whispers, wiping the tears gently from your cheek, kissing your shoulder.  
“You are,” you confirm in a low voice, “a strong one, a good one. You don’t hurt women, you’re no rapist.”  
His heavy breath streaks your ear, the tip of his cock still pressing against your asshole, the seconds trickling away and you lose it once more: “Please, Juice, don’t rape me. Please. I’m here voluntarily, there’s no need to hurt me, please, don’t.”  
Once more he kisses your shoulder, soft bites on your neck, his hands sliding to your tits.  
“I want to feel it,” he whispers, massaging your breasts casually.  
“Feel what?”  
“Power, potency, mastery. One last time.”  
“One last time?” You ask breathlessly.  
“Yeah. Don’t ask.”  
You nod and close your eyes, enjoying his efforts for about a minute, relaxing a bit, feeling the fear vanishing. He scared the shit outta you, he still does a bit.  
“Okay,” you give him permission in the moment his right hand cups your pussy lips, “I’ll submit. But please don’t fuck me dry. Don’t rape me. I’ll do what I’m told. Just as back then. Remember, the week we spent in San José?”  
“Yeah, I remember. I won’t rape you, baby. No fear,” he answers, pinching your nipples in the way you love it.  
His tip still rests against your back entrance but you’re able to relax a bit more. You trust him, ever have and still do. He won’t rape you. He’s in a shitty mood. Most likely he’d been molested, raped, forced to things you don’t want to think about. You feel how basically his pride is broken.  
“Did you ever really enjoy me fucking your ass? I want an honest answer.” His voice is calm and quiet, but the “I’ll take no shit”-attitude is unmistakable.  
“Yeah, I did. Very much, Juice.”  
“Why? It hurts like hell and it’s one of the humiliating things I’ve ever ... heard of.”  
You noticed the little pause in his statement and the compassion you feel makes your breath heavier. Oh, shit. Forget the “most likely”.  
“You’ve never hurt me. Or humiliated me. You’ve never forced yourself in me, right? You prepared me every single time and made sure I was willing and more than ready to take you in. You did it slow and careful. You’ve thanked me afterwards, told me how good it felt for you. Remember, Juice? It was about trust, love, respect and lust. Never even a hint of something negative.”  
His forehead rests between your shoulder blades and you feel him nodding. The soft pressure on your back entrance is gone. He’s lying relaxed on top of you, enjoying some cuddling.  
“He ruins my orgasms. He humiliates me. And after giving me a forced, full orgasm he humiliates me even more,” Juice whispers and his tears running over your spine. “I want to have control. I need control. Especially over my own damn orgasms, over my ass and my cock.”  
“I don’t know what to say, baby. I’m so sorry. Is there a way I can help you? I could try to get you outta here. Maybe to Folsom or Pelican Bay.”  
“No. No, I have to stay here. You can’t help me. No one can. But you can please me, make me forget for a few hours.”  
His hands start roaming over your body again, he caresses every inch, kissing your neck and your shoulders.  
“Relax, okay?” He whispers and you nod, closing your eyes.  
After he elicits the first little moans of you, he states: “I’m gonna fuck your pussy first, after this you’ll blow me. And before you go, I’ll have your ass.”  
“Okay,” you give him permission und he whispers: “I want you to enjoy, screaming my name. I can’t be gentle today. You good with that?”  
“Of course, baby,” you answer quietly.  
“Say it,” he mumbles, “say it aloud. All of it.”  
“I need your cock in my pussy, my mouth and my ass. I wanna please you, baby, take me, take what’s yours. I need you to be rough and feral. I’m going to let everyone outside this room hear who makes me feel so good, Juice.”  
“Why do I make you feel so good, baby?” He asks hoarsely, pinching your nipples.  
“Because you’re a man. My man.”  
He moans and grinds his hips against your thighs.  
“Fuck me baby, right now,” you whisper, feeling his urge and your desire mixing up to some serious heat.  
“No,” he says, “not this fast. We’re gonna enjoy it. We’ve got still four and a half hours left. Plus: We’ll need condoms, baby. I shouldn’t wonder if I’m not clean anymore.”  
“Oh my god, Juice!” You gasp, as you get aware of the possibility he could get out of the prison not only with a broken soul but also with a serious illness.  
“Doesn’t matter for me anymore,” he whispers. “But I don’t want to pass some horrible shit onto you.”  
“It does matter,” you whisper, “don’t say this. You’ll be a free man in no time and …”  
“Stop talking, honey. Just feel, okay? Relax. I’m glad you’re here. Let me show you how thankful I am.”  
“Okay,” you answer, “I love you, Juice.”  
“I know, darling.”


End file.
